


Louder than Bombs

by fefedove



Category: Chinese Actor RPF, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF
Genre: Flashbacks, Fluff, M/M, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 08:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28828470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fefedove/pseuds/fefedove
Summary: "I am always so impressed by those who can find small joys even in troubling times."
Relationships: Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan | Sean
Comments: 16
Kudos: 48





	Louder than Bombs

**Author's Note:**

> insp. xiao zhan's marvelous city interview  
> title insp. louder than bombs by bts
> 
> /slight ooc/

"An anecdote that I love the most is one boy who said he was actually happy for air raids. He would always see which bomb shelter the person he liked ran to and go there as well."

The production team of a wartime documentary came to Chicago to interview Xiao Zhan for the newest episode. Sent overseas by his family at the start of the war, he was one of the earliest Chinese international students here. His past had been turbulent, but time has still treated him well. Through the years, he became a renowned architect and is a well-respected elder in the local Chinese community.

The reporter enjoys speaking with him. The conversation flows easily as the old man recounts his childhood memories.

"I am always so impressed by those who can find small joys even in troubling times."

"That boy must have been like a ray of sunshine," the reporter comments.

"Yes." Xiao Zhan smiles. "Yes, he was."

Yes, he was.

The first time they meet is the first air raid Xiao Zhan experiences. He's separated from his family by the panicking, jostling crowd. The humidity and heat in the enclosed space adds to the stifling atmosphere. There are rats here too. He can hear the skittering under the low murmurs and soft cries of children. He sits there, knees brought up to his chest, and tries not to touch anyone or let anyone touch him.

But something—someone keeps pressing up to his back. It's so hot in this bomb shelter and he's already covered in sweat. He scoots to the side in annoyance, but the person follows like gum stuck to the sole of his shoes.

Finally, he can't stand it anymore. "Leave me alone," he snaps.

The gum stuck on him flinches a little but doesn't move away. "It's so dark," comes a quivering voice.

Xiao Zhan frowns. "You're scared?"

There's no answer, but he can feel a chin or something dig into his back in a nod. He heaves a sigh.

When they make it out, the boy is still holding his hand. Under the sunlight, Xiao Zhan sees that the boy is stick-thin and his gangly limbs stick out from faded, threadbare clothes. He's the type of peasant children that Xiao Zhan's parents tell him to stay away from, but he doesn't shake his hand free.

"Thanks," the boy says after taking some deep breaths. " You're my savior." He doesn't seem embarrassed about his fear of the dark at all.

Xiao Zhan nods.

"I'll treat you to noodles!"

Xiao Zhan thinks of how his family must be wondering where he is by now. All he says is, "But I don't even know your name."

"I'm Yibo," the boy says.

"Xiao Zhan."

Yibo leads him to a street stall where he greets the owner with "Auntie, I'm here" and she knows exactly how he wants his noodles without him saying anything.

"Two bowls today, please."

The woman looks up from the steaming pot. She glances at them while wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "Oh, you brought a friend?"

Xiao Zhan sits awkwardly on the rickety stool, too low for his legs. The woman places two bowls of noodles on the taller stool between them. Yibo starts slurping immediately.

The noodles don't have any meat and the few green stalks look withered, but the spices more than make up for it, filling Xiao Zhan's stomach with warmth.

"Oh." Yibo looks up from his bowl. There's sauce all over his mouth. "I forgot to tell you. You might have trouble going to the toilet tomorrow."

Xiao Zhan stares. The warmth within him turns to fire. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?!"

Laughter rings out. It mixes with the steam from the noodles on that hot, humid day.

Air raids become more common; Yibo always manages to find Xiao Zhan in the dark.

"I like it when there are air raids," he whispers in Xiao Zhan's ear one time. "Because it's the only time I can see you."

Xiao Zhan swats him blindly in the dark.

"Ow, you almost stabbed me in the eye."

He doesn't apologize. "Don't say such inauspicious words," he chides instead.

In the days after that, Xiao Zhan keeps a red string in his pocket. The next time they squeeze into the bomb shelter, he slips the string onto Yibo's wrist.

"What's this?"

"It'll bring you good luck."

"Oh."

After a pause, Yibo murmurs, "I'll need it when you can't hold my hand anymore."

"What do you mean?" he asks. The sentimental cheesiness settles weirdly in his stomach.

"I'm enlisting."

Xiao Zhan stills. He shifts and turns around. He still can't see the other boy clearly, but he stares hard. "You're not old enough!"

Yibo seems to shrug. "My brother's enlisting. I'm going with him."

Xiao Zhan doesn't answer—he doesn't know what to say.

"Never take it off," he murmurs finally.

"Mn, this's my good luck charm now."

He feels the string press softly against his arm. It imprints onto his mind in the darkness.

A week after the documentary episode is released online, the production team contacts Xiao Zhan again. They say that a war veteran's grandchildren messaged them. The story he told in the interview was familiar. They ask if he knows a Wang Yibo.

Xiao Zhan doesn't quite understand, but the video call is arranged somehow. The younger kids in the community help him set up the computer and he waits with trembling hands for the other side to connect. Without warning, the black screen is filled with the slightly pixelated image of another man with white hair.

Is this…

The man waves his hand at the camera. There’s a red string on his thin wrist. It’s frayed at the ends, but it’s still intact after all these years. “Zhan-ge,” the man calls.

Xiao Zhan doesn’t know what to say. He never seems to know what to say when faced with him.

“You were a handsome boy. Now, you’re a handsome old man.”

He laughs. “You too, handsome old man.”


End file.
